Chance
by jelenamichel
Summary: Two weeks before Christmas, Tony is stuck in the overcrowded international arrivals hall as he waits for Ziva's flight to land. He could bail on her now and she'd never know, but he thinks a little suffocation will be worth her smile.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So, I think Ziva's mother is actually Russian, but I'm making her Argentinean because…well, there's no good reason, actually. I'm just feeling more South American than European right now.**

**This is set two weeks before Christmas 2009, but out of cannon. So there was no, uh, **_**ugliness**_** between the Dynamic Duo. Look, it doesn't really matter. It's just a piece of fluff that's supposed to get me writing again. **

**Disclaimer: Disclaimed.**

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Two weeks before Christmas, Tony DiNozzo fought his way through the overcrowded arrivals hall at Dulles International. Everyone around him was stuffed into thick winter coats in defence to the snow outside, and the jostling and shoving of other patrons was beginning to get out of hand as everyone fought to maintain their hold on their own square foot of real estate.

Fleetingly, Tony thought about leaving. He hadn't told Ziva that he was going to pick her up from her flight from Argentina. In fact, he'd only decided to be her cab driver about three hours ago, after Gibbs sent the team home early before the predicted blizzard hit tonight. If he left now and freed himself from the Christmas hostage situation that was developing, Ziva would never know that she should be angry with him for bailing on her.

The only problem with that was that _he'd_ know, and he knew he'd feel crappy about it all weekend. Not to mention that if he left now, he wouldn't earn brownie points for the surprise pick-up. He wouldn't get her to smile at him and maybe kiss his cheek in thanks. And he would have to wait until at least tomorrow to see her again. She'd already been gone for two weeks, visiting her mother in Buenos Aries, and somehow, waiting another 12 hours before he was blessed with her company again seemed like an impossible task.

So, he waited. The arrivals screen told him that her flight had landed an hour ago, so he didn't have to worry about delays due to the weather. Right now she was probably in the process of clearing Customs (having to explain her assorted weaponry, no doubt), and Tony predicted she'd be coming through the doors into the arrivals hall sometime in the next half hour.

_Half an hour, DiNozzo_, he told himself. _You can put up with half an hour of near suffocation to get a smile from Ziva at the end of it._

_Or maybe not_, he thought when the young, red-haired woman in front of him leaned back to let another traveller with a trolley heaving with suitcases past. Perhaps not realising Tony was there, the woman brought her stiletto heel down on Tony's foot, only to lift it quickly again when she felt something fleshy underneath it. Tony sucked in a painful breath and yanked his foot back as the woman turned with a look of sincere apology that turned into a coy, flirty smile.

"Sorry. Getting a little tight in here," she said.

Her full pink lips curved up at the corner, just enough to tell him that the double entendre had been on purpose and that if he hit on her, she wouldn't mind. A year ago (okay, maybe two), Tony would have done just that. She was cute as hell with the kind of sparkle in her eye that used to make Tony want to beg. But now, he just gave her a politely charming smile, and ignored the unspoken invitation.

"No problem."

She looked at him a second longer, weighing up whether or not to be a bit more blatant in her flirting. But Tony averted his eyes pointedly, and she turned away from him.

The only downside to shutting her down was that now Tony had nothing to occupy his time, except watch the never-ending swarm of people and try not to look too eager and desperate to see his best friend and…whatever again.

His interest piqued when a line of returned travellers started streaming in through the arrivals doors, and the people around him started craning their necks for a glimpse of a familiar face. A kid next to him, he wouldn't have been older than 18, let out a loud, "Yo, Matty!" and pushed his way through the crowd to grab a guy, not much older but definitely from the same gene pool in a tight man hug. Then a woman of about 25 was lifted off her feet by an excited boyfriend and burst into tears of joy. Two kids shorter than Tony's hips shoved their way between peoples' legs to latch onto a silver-haired couple in bright sweaters. A businesswoman nodded at a black-suited driver bearing a card with her name. A mother burst into relieved tears at the arrival of her 20-something son, and moaned about how skinny he'd gotten.

And just like that, Tony felt like he was in the opening scene from _Love, Actually_, where Hugh Grant was talking about heading to the arrivals hall at London Heathrow whenever he felt gloomy about the state of the world. _It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often, its not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but its always there—fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old friends._

But standing there, amongst all those smiling people and happy tears, it was another line in the movie that really got him thinking: _Let's go get the shit kicked out of us by love_. Suddenly, his stomach was tied up in knots. Because that, Tony realised, was exactly what he was doing there. He'd driven over an hour through a snowstorm to hang out at an airport on one of the busiest travel days of the year, and then pick up his partner without being asked to because, actually, he wanted to make her love him. Because he desperately wanted her to know that he cared, _more than_ cared, even if after everything they'd been through, he still couldn't make himself say it.

"Damn it," he muttered to himself. Why did he have to work that out _now_? Couldn't he have worked that out three hours ago, before he'd decided to come? Maybe his lack of awareness had been on purpose, though. If he'd realised what he was doing before now, he may not have come. Obviously, his sub-conscious didn't have the patience that his consciousness did anymore.

With his chest growing tight with realisation, Tony once again thought about leaving. Loving her silently was all well and good. But the chances of her loving him back, without restraint, without apology, without pointing out the consequences, were miniscule.

_But there _is_ a chance_, came a little voice from inside him. _And anyway, you don't have to _say_ anything to her about it when she gets off the plane. You just have to pick her up. It's a nice gesture. A friendly gesture. You'd do it for Abby without starting to freak out like a 12-year-old girl._

"Man up, DiNozzo," he muttered to himself. Just because he'd stumbled upon the real reason he was doing this didn't mean that Ziva would. It was a goddamn lift home from the airport, not a proposal on top of the Eiffel Tower.

By the time he was able to talk sense into himself and calm down, it had become clear that Ziva was not on the flight that was letting out. He decided to wander down the other end of the hall to encourage the blood to return to his limbs, and then made a beeline for the chain coffee outlet that Tony could have sworn had a Star of Bethlehem blinking above it.

"Praise Jesus."

He ordered himself a cappuccino (extra sugar), and then made himself ask for a low-fat latte with a shot of hazelnut and cinnamon. The barista looked him up and down with a smirk that clearly said 'pussy whipped', and Tony gave a tight smile and raised eyebrow of acknowledgement in reply. He'd gotten the look before, from waiters, baristas and bar staff across the tri-state area when it was his turn to get the coffee/lunch/drinks for the team. After four years, it hardly bothered him.

By the time he returned to the arrivals hall, another flight was letting out and his stomach got tighter. If she wasn't on this one, he was going to start worrying that she'd missed her flight. Or worse, decided not to come back for another couple of weeks.

He jumped out of the way before a hyperactive 18-year-old girl flung herself into her boyfriend's arms and wrapped her legs around his waist. Tony rolled his eyes to himself at the display and their blatant disregard for polite social customs, but mostly, he was jealous. If they lived another 40 years, there was no way that Ziva would ever fling herself at him like that. Ziva was composed. Ziva was private. Ziva was the kind of woman who showed how much she cared by moving the muscles around her eyes and mouth in the most subtle way imaginable. But then again, that was kind of one of the things he liked about her. She didn't want or need the grand gesture. She didn't care about showing off for whoever was watching. She was just…cool about things.

He pulled his eyes off the young couple who were now in the early stages of foreplay and craned his neck to see past the family of giants that had appeared in front of him. And there was Ziva, slipping past three frat boys in a blue coat she'd bought last winter (_how_ did he know that?) and her hair spilling out under a soft white beanie. She didn't see him as she slung her pack over her shoulder (the queen of travelling light) and headed for the exit.

Tony slipped around the giants and went after her. She got caught trying to get past a large family pushing three luggage trolleys, but Tony saw an opening to the left and overtook her. By the time she freed herself from the traffic jam, Tony was leaning nonchalantly against a foreign exchange booth, sipping his coffee and looking at her like he knew he'd already scored a couple of points.

Ziva looked up at him from three feet away, and her neutral expression that was probably hiding _I could kill you all with my pinky_ thoughts dropped into one of priceless surprise.

"Hey," he said casually.

"Tony," she said, her voice higher with surprise.

He held out the coffee to her. "Thought you might need this."

Her look of surprise finally gave way to a smile—a full smile that Tony was not expecting, and which made his chest ache in the best possible way. Oh yes, he'd scored _many_ points for this pick-up. And that smile made the angst of staying worthwhile.

She took the coffee from him and lifted the lid to sniff it, then looked up at him with a smile even bigger than the last. "_Toda_."

Her eyes flicked over him, pausing at his mouth, and for just a second he thought she might turn into one of those girls that flung themselves at you.

"I wasn't expecting anyone to pick me up," she said.

He gave her a typical DiNozzo grin. "Oh, I'm not here for you. I'm picking up some other girl."

With her free hand, Ziva punched him in the chest. Tony took the blow with a staggered step and a smile, and then reached for her bag. "Here, let me do the guy thing."

"Why start now?" she asked, even as she unhooked it from her shoulder and let him throw it over his.

"It's a new thing I'm trying," he said, taking a chance by putting his arm around her shoulders and drawing her in to him before leading her towards the exit. "Kind of an early new year's resolution. Be more caveman."

Ziva didn't protest the arm, and in fact leaned into his side just enough to tell him she appreciated it. "Well, that won't be annoying at all," she said sarcastically.

"Be nice to me, or I'll throw you over my shoulder."

Ziva snorted. "I'd like to see you try."

Tony dropped his hand to her waist and stooped as if to do just that, and Ziva half-heartedly tried to wrench herself out of his grip with a laugh. "Don't do it, DiNozzo!" she warned. "I have three knives, a gun and a cup of hot coffee on me."

"Jesus, how did you get all those through security?"

"With a smile," she deadpanned.

The threat brought a smile to his face, as he realised that in its own way, this was _much_ better than Ziva flinging herself at him. He gave her shoulder a squeeze as he impulsively kissed the side of her head.

"It's good to have you back, Zi."

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**Next chapter will go up tomorrow, if you're all good.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: You know what I've realised that I really like about this fanfic thing? I have **_**regulars**_**. People who always read my stuff and leave lovely comments. I don't often reply to reviews, but rest assured that I recognise your names and I love that you keep supporting me. Thank you thank you thank you.**

**We learn a bit about Ziva's visit with her mother in this chapter. I don't remember hearing much about Mama Ziva in the past, so I've decided to give them a nice relationship. Because really, wouldn't it be nice if they had one? It's **_**Tony's**_** mother that I want to turn out to have been like Laura Bristow/Irina Derevko. I know she's dead—**_**or is she?**_**—but if they could get Lena Olin to play her I would wet myself almost as much as I did when I found out about Robert Wagner and…I'm getting carried away. On to the story.**

**Disclaimer: Disclaimed.**

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The first thing that Ziva noticed when she swung open the door to her apartment was how warm it was inside.

She cursed in Hebrew. "Did I leave the heat on the whole time?"

Tony came in behind her and dropped her bag on the kitchen counter. "No, I came by on my way home from work and turned it on. It's been freezing here, and I didn't want you to get frostbite on your way to the bathroom."

Ziva looked over at him with surprise, but he was now speaking to her over his shoulder as he started unpacking the small bag of groceries they'd just picked up from the store. "I grabbed some milk and bread for you, too, so at least you'll have something there for breakfast. I hate getting home from a couple of days away and not having—"

He trailed off when Ziva put her hand on his arm, and turned to her. Her hand left his arm only to touch the side of his face, and she rose onto her toes to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

"Thank you," she told him with warm eyes.

For Tony, that made it all worth it. "_Prego_," he told her with a casual smile, as if it really was no big deal.

For a moment, it looked like she was about to say more, and he cocked his head to the side to encourage her. But in the end she just gave him another smile and then moved away, taking her warmth with her.

"I'm going to have a quick shower," she told him as she picked up her bag.

Tony waited until he was sure she had left the room before he unleashed a big smile. Who would have ever thought that Tony DiNozzo would one day find satisfaction in doing a good deed for another?

Ziva waited until the shower was nice and hot before stepping under the spray and closing her eyes. The feel of the water drenching her hair and soaking her cramped muscles was almost as good as her welcome at the airport. She honestly hadn't expected anyone to be there to pick her up, and she certainly hadn't asked anyone to. She thought she would just grab a cab, come home and go to bed, and then call Tony in the morning. But to have him waiting there, in a hall that was so full it was probably a fire hazard, and then to drive her through the snow in heavy traffic…it made her feel all appreciated and missed.

As she worked shampoo into her hair, her mind drifted to the late night conversations she had with her mother over the last two weeks. She'd been so happy to hear that Ziva had quit Mossad and been accepted as a Special Agent with NCIS, which came as no surprise to Ziva. Having been married to Eli David during his rise through the ranks at Mossad, Madelena David was acutely aware of the activities that Ziva herself would have been involved in. It never sat well with her, Ziva knew, and she feared that she would outlive both her daughters before her sixtieth birthday.

But NCIS was different. Madelena was convinced that American law enforcement put greater value on the lives of their agents. And besides, Ziva had seemed so much happier since moving to Washington.

"You love it there," she had said one night as they sat on her balcony and drank wine.

Ziva had allowed herself an indulgent smile." I do," she admitted. "Every time I have been made to return to Israel, leaving America, leaving my friends, has been terrible."

Madelena looked at her with interest. "You know, darling, before you moved over there, I never heard you talk about your friends. Now I hear about them all the time."

"Do you?" Ziva had asked, honestly unaware of how much she had shared.

"It's wonderful," Madelena said, putting her warm hand over her daughter's. "They are good for you."

Ziva had thought of how much just having that small group of people in her life had changed her. Opened her up and made her more…human. "I love them very much," she said thickly.

Madelena pursed her lips around a smile, and Ziva had seen the next question coming. "Love anyone in particular? Boyfriend? Girlfriend?"

Just because Ziva had seen the question coming didn't mean that she knew exactly how to answer. In the end, she didn't have to.

"It's Tony, isn't it?" Madelena said.

Ziva's head had whipped around to look at her so fast that she got a burning sensation down the back of her neck. "Why do you say that?"

Madelena had long ago learnt to simply ignore her daughter's sometimes harsh tone, and answered with a casual shrug. "You speak of him a lot more than the others. And there is something in your tone that makes my mother's intuition tingle."

And that was when Ziva had unloaded on her. There was absolutely no reason she could not be honest with her mother. She would never use this information against her, nor sell it to anyone else. She only wanted to know because she wanted Ziva to be happy, and after all those years at Mossad and fuelled by anger over Tali's death, it looked like her daughter may finally get a chance.

So Ziva had opened her mouth to speak, and then found that she couldn't stop. She told Madelena all about Gibbs' rule, about how goofy and _American_ Tony was, about how she didn't think she'd cope with working so closely with him every day and then going home with him at night. She told her how she couldn't stand the thought of not being his partner. About how being completely in love with him was wearing her down. About constantly having to stop herself from touching him or telling him how she felt. Of being aware at all times of who was around them and what she and Tony could get away with in front of them. Of what a relationship with him would mean for the team as a whole, and effects it would have on Gibbs, McGee and Abby as individuals. Of being at an utter loss over what she should do.

"You always focus on the practical and the rational," Madelena had accused after Ziva had stopped to take a breath. "What does your heart say this time?"

Ziva had taken a large gulp of wine for courage, and the burn as it went down her throat brought tears to the back of her eyes. "I just want to be with him," she'd said, slouching under the weight the words carried. "I just want to _try_. To see whether it could work. Because I don't want to regret missing out. If he ends up with someone else before we ever tried with each other…" The thought was enough to make her throat close, and she had to swallow twice before she could continue. "He is my best friend, and I want him to get whatever makes him happy. But _I_ want to be the one that makes him happy."

Madelena had wrapped her arm around Ziva's shoulders. "It seems your heart is clear on this."

"It doesn't matter anyway," Ziva had said, ignoring the lancing pain in her chest as she leant against her mother's side. "I am not that woman, _Mamá_."

"What woman?"

"The one who has boyfriends," Ziva murmured, her honesty only succeeding in making her feel utterly pathetic. "Who gets to be loved."

Of course, Ziva's mother had not accepted that. "Darling, you _are_ loved."

"Yes, but not…"

"Romantically?"

Ziva's cheeks had started burning with her childish and whimsical desires. "I am almost embarrassed about even considering that I might have a proper relationship one day. No one who knows me would ever think that having a relationship would suit me. It's not who I am. For me to end up like that…people would assume I had a serious head injury."

"Do you want to know what I think?"

"Probably not."

"I think you're making excuses," Madelena had said, firmly but with love. "I think you're terrified that things might actually work with him. Because that would mean that you're actually worth somebody's love. And you've spent the last 15, maybe 20 years telling yourself that you are nothing more than a nameless soldier. You had to do that in order to do your job. But it's not your job anymore, Ziva. You are an individual person now. You must try to start accepting that and opening yourself to all that it brings. A leopard can change its dots, love."

Tony's voice had jumped into Ziva's head, making her smile. "Spots, _Mamá_."

"Stupid idioms."

"It's just hard to let go of," she had tried to explain. "I am plain old Ziva. The girl who plays in the dirt and throws knives at people and who has barely been honest about herself to anyone in the last 15 years. And now I want to have a relationship with a man who was probably prom king. Who wears Armani and drives a Mustang. Who is an amazing investigator, and who knows exactly how to handle people. What am I even thinking? I'm so stupid! I can't have someone like him."

Madelena had taken her chin gently with her thumb and forced Ziva to meet her gaze. "Darling, you have to stop talking to yourself like this. You are a beautiful, intelligent, proud and strong woman at the beginning of a new chapter in her life. You can have whoever you want. You just have to take a chance."

At the time, Ziva had not thought it could possibly be that simple.

"Would I like him?"

The smile had stretched Ziva's lips in an instant. "He would charm the pants of you, _Mamá_. Perhaps literally."

Her mother's word rang in her head now as Ziva stepped out of the shower and towelled herself off. Maybe a leopard could change its spots. Tony certainly had. The once serial dater had fallen hard for a woman who was not completely vapid, and wasn't even in her twenties. And since Jeanne, he hadn't even dated at all. He wasn't a boy stuck in a man's body anymore. He truly was a shockingly decent man.

More than that, he was a man who, in the last few months, had used his words and actions to make her wonder if he was, actually, ready for something more from her. But the way they were going now, _pretending_ that there were no feelings between them, she was never going to get her an answer to that question. Maybe it was time that she gave them a chance. Maybe she should stop holding herself back and denying herself what she wanted, and instead of kissing his cheek when he picked her up, bought her coffee, turned on her heat, stocked her fridge for breakfast and cooked her dinner, she should actually just throw him down, kiss him senseless and tell him she loves him like she really wanted to.

Maybe it was time Ziva changed her spots.

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**So, that's Ziva's POV. I find her harder to write than Tony, but I think I said what I wanted her to say. Conclusion is coming soon.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Once again, shout out to the regulars, welcome to the newbies, and thanks for all your kind reviews. I'm taking them as an early birthday present. **

**Disclaimer: Disclaimed.**

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The knots in Ziva's stomach were replaced with hungry growls as soon as she left her bedroom. Whatever Tony was cooking smelled divine, and reminded Ziva that she'd slept through dinner service on her flight.

She ignored the sudden flight response she felt in her belly when her eyes fell on his back, and forced herself to join him in the kitchen. Coming up behind him, she put her hand on his shoulder and leaned around him to look at the meals he'd just plated. DiNozzo family recipe spaghetti bolognaise, she realised with a smile. He was being _really_ good to her tonight.

"Smells good," she said. "But not very caveman, with all those herbs and spices."

"I draw the line at slapping raw meat on your plate."

"And I appreciate that."

They carried their plates into the living room and sat on the floor, using the coffee table as a dining table.

"So, how's your mom?" Tony asked.

Ziva swallowed a bite of bolognaise, and made a 'so delicious' face at him. "She is well. She sends her love."

Tony smirked. "That's much better than what your dad usually sends me."

She raised her eyebrows in agreement. That much was the truth. "She is extremely pleased that I quit Mossad and applied for US citizenship."

Tony could imagine. As far as he knew, Madelena David had never been directly involved in Mossad activities. And although he didn't necessarily believe that she would have escaped a marriage to Eli David without aiding the agency's cause at all, Tony got the impression that Madelena was a lover, not a fighter. To hear that her remaining daughter was out of the espionage game must have been an enormous relief.

"She can join my club, and I'll send her one of the celebratory t-shirts I had made up."

Ziva scrunched her nose at him, an action he found irresistibly adorable. "I believe she was going to send a fruit basket to my father along with a photograph of her middle finger. If you want, you can ask her to add your name to the card."

Tony laughed out right. "And that will be the last thing I do with my life before dying in a freak skydiving accident."

Ziva shook her head. "That is not my father's style," she said thoughtfully. "He would be more likely to—"

"You know what? I don't want to know," Tony interrupted. "Let it be a surprise."

She smiled for him. "You do not skydive, Tony."

"That would be the freak part," he said. "I did go paratrooping once. Well, it was kind of an accident, but I still did it."

Her brows knitted. "How was it an accident?"

"I got knocked out of a plane," he said with a shrug. "But I was wearing a chute, so disaster averted."

Ziva wasn't sure that she entirely followed the course of events, but decided it didn't matter. "I have never skydived."

Tony's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "Really? But…you're a superhero."

She chuckled and looked away in embarrassment at the title he gave her. "It has just never come up."

He shook his head. "Well, that's your birthday present for next year sorted out."

Ziva grinned, and hoped that he wasn't joking. She took a final bite of her bolognaise, and then pushed the plate away from her. "That was delicious."

Tony nodded in thanks. "What do you expect from someone with my mad kitchen skillz?"

"You never _use_ your mad kitchen skills," Ziva pointed out, proud of herself for not having to ask what was so _angry_ about them.

"Well, it's so much effort to cook just for me," he whined.

Ziva's reply was cut off by a sudden yawn, and Tony felt a pang of regret that their short evening was probably already over. Still, he _had_ gotten to see her a full 12 hours ahead of schedule, and he could never complain about getting to spend any amount of time with her.

"I should go," he said, managing not to sound too disappointed. "Let you get some sleep."

Ziva felt a twinge of disappointment in her chest, but found a good enough excuse to keep him around a bit longer when she glanced out the window. "But, baby, it's cold outside," she recited.

Tony chuckled at the song reference and looked out the window at the snow falling heavily outside. "Well, they did issue a warning about that."

Ziva got to her feet and collected their empty dinner plates. "You can stay," she said. "I'll even watch a movie with you."

As she retreated to the kitchen, Tony unleashed a ridiculously cheerful smile and made a silent vow to pick her up from the airport every single time from now on.

* * *

An hour later, they sat side-by-side on her couch watching Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn's verbal fencing in _The Philadelphia Story_. Ziva wrinkled her forehead at the description of a boat being yar.

"Arg? Like…pirates?"

Tony couldn't help his chuckles. "No, _yar_, not _arg_."

"What is yar?"

"A boat that's easy to handle."

"Oh. So nothing to do with pirates?"

"I'm sure Jack Sparrow would have liked a boat that was yar."

She frowned again. "Who?"

Tony shot her an amused and vaguely adoring smile. "I thought we were getting somewhere with your pop culture references."

"When are we going to start on your Israeli culture references?" she threw at him.

"We're not in Israel," he shrugged dismissively. He knew the response would push her buttons, and sure enough, Ziva just glared at him. In response, Tony made a face as if enlightenment was just now coming over him. "Ohhh, you're suggesting that me expanding my horizons beyond the country in which I live and making an effort to understand and appreciate _your_ customs might be something that you'd appreciate."

She dropped her eyes to his knee and allowed herself a rueful smile at falling for his self-centred act, as Tony grinned. She should know better than to think he wasn't aware of how much it bugged her sometimes. And she should know better than to think that he wouldn't make fun of her for it at some point. Not to make her feel bad, but to catch her unaware and then stealthily spring something on her that would end up making her smile.

And with that in mind, Tony looked up at her with a cocky half smile, and delivered his next line in near-perfect Hebrew. "You have pretty hair."

Ziva's head snapped up as the surprise he was looking for registered on her face. "Where did you learn that?" she asked softly, as a charmed smile tugged at her lips.

Tony played dumb. "What are you talking about? I speak fluent Hebrew."

One of those rare, full smiles that he was so fond of spread across her face, before she quickly reeled it in and gave him a teasing, sultry smile that he was an even bigger fan of.

Calling his bluff, she responded in Hebrew, "I want to lick you from belly to throat."

Tony nodded as if he understood every word and turned back to the TV. "Yeah, I can't believe Cary Grant never won an Oscar either."

When she didn't respond, he looked back at her again, thinking that she might have been getting frustrated with his constant joking. But instead, he found her looking at him with utter endearment. He threw her another blatantly charming smile, and before he knew it, Ziva had lifted her hand to touch his cheek. After a too long moment of indecision, she finally leant in and oh-so-softly touched her lips to his. Tony's breath caught as his head spun in disbelief that she had actually kissed him, and then, too soon, she was pulling back again.

Ziva looked him in the eye from just two inches away, her heart thudding with anticipation as she gauged his response. Was he going to smile kindly but tell her the touch was not wanted? Was he going to give her the 'just friends' line? Or maybe he'd force a long and difficult discussion about the intelligence behind her move?

He didn't do any of it. Instead, he lifted his own hand to her cheek, and gazed back at her like she was all he wanted. Having the audacity to believe him, and after stretching her leg over his hips and settling her body into his lap, Ziva once again brought her lips down on his.

It was not the kind of kiss that Tony remembered getting from her before. That very first kiss, the one they had years ago when they were only weeks into their partnership and already had sexual tension to relieve, had been hungry, rough, demanding. It had stamped itself on him for the rest of his days, leaving him with a memory that he could drag out on cold nights and lonely afternoons and replay over and over until he could almost convince himself that it had been real.

But reality was the startling difference between that kiss and this one. Back then, it had been a show for the cameras, and never let it be said that Anthony DiNozzo could not perform on cue. It has been a grinding, gripping, panting and straining R-rated presentation under assumed names for the benefit of their would-be killers and whoever managed to get tickets at the door to MTAC.

But this…There were no cameras in Ziva's house (as far as he knew), and they'd called each other by their given names no more than five minutes ago. This kiss did not have the fireworks of the past, and yet it was a hundred times better. It was _real_. It was slow, it was deep, it was drugging, aching, longing and wanting. It was burning itself into his memory, and this—this perfect, unexpected kiss—would be the second best company to keep on those cold nights and lonely afternoons, right after the woman herself. He clung to her now, willing the memory to always be this vivid. Imprinting her warmth, her weight, her softness, her smell, her touch, her painfully sweet mouth exactly into his mind. Hoping that she wouldn't have a change of heart and pull away. Desperate for as much of her as she was willing and able to give. Prepared to give back to her for as long as she wanted or needed it.

When she shifted on him, a whine pushed its way out of his throat and into her mouth in a pre-emptive protest of the end of the kiss. Tony didn't know if she'd registered the pathetic noise as a whine or a moan, but when she slanted her head just so, flicked his tongue with hers and rolled her hips on his, it was a moot point. Because the noise he made now was definitely a moan.

It was the hip roll that finally broke his unto now paralysis. Without even registering the thought, one of his hands travelled south down her spine to press into the small of her back and urge her closer. The other went north to rake through her hair and settle at the nape of her neck, tugging at the stands gently with his fist. He felt himself be squeezed by the arm around his neck, heard her groan of encouragement, and it finally registered in his endorphin-clouded brain that this epic, heart stopping kiss was just the tip of the iceberg.

Confident now that he'd get another chance to mark those lips with his, he broke the kiss to suck in much-needed air and raised his eyes to meet hers.

"What was that for?" he panted, even as he cursed his ridiculous need to get her motivation straight in his head.

Ziva looked back at him seriously, before breaking his gaze as nerves overtook her. She made the barest of attempts to move away from him, but he tightened his arms around her to make it clear that his curiosity did not mean stop.

She swallowed and tried to meet his eyes again. "I guess…I just thought I would take a chance," she said haltingly.

With those terrifying words now freed from the safety of her head and set loose in the world, Ziva was able to watch him as his face took on a look of relief. He closed his eyes briefly, and then looked back at her with an adulation that made her breath catch.

"And that's why you're the superhero," he explained softly, his lips pulling in a half smile as he ran his thumb over her cheekbone. "Because you're the brave one."

Ziva shook her head. He was so, so wrong. But she didn't get a chance to correct him before he pulled her face towards him again for a kiss that grew with urgency and want with every second, until finally, it was fireworks.

Tony was looking for the right moment to flip her onto her back on the couch to continue the kiss in a more horizontal position, but it was Ziva who lost her patience first. She prised herself off him, and tugged his hand as she got to her feet.

"Come with me," she told him (_told_, not asked), and then backed her way into her bedroom while her hands stripped off his sweater and t-shirt. Tony got in another wanting kiss before she sat him on the end of her bed and stood between his legs.

Ziva took a moment to look down at him, forcing herself to take note of the expression on his face that literally made her shudder. She had never seen his face like this, had never thought that his sunny smile and twinkling eyes were capable. But here he was, his eyes making her ache for him, looking at her like he wanted her so badly and was terrified that she would stop it. For a moment, she simply couldn't understand it. After all, wasn't _he_ supposed to be the one coming to his senses and stopping her?

It didn't matter, she decided, when a moment later his hands ran up her sides and stripped her of her own top. He held her torso between his hands in front of his face, and then closed his eyes as he pressed a soft kiss to her stomach.

"Ziva," he breathed, his tone both disbelieving and revering. "You're not going to stop me, are you?"

She held his face in her hands and shook her head. "I just want to try, Tony."

The smile broke over his face as he pulled her down onto the bed and found that, actually, that was what he wanted too. "That's the best thing I've ever heard, Ziva."

**

* * *

Okay, so Tony's line about her pretty hair? It was intended to be a completely amateur attempt at flirting in a new language. He doesn't **_**really**_** speak Hebrew, so he's not going to deliver some amazing soliloquy. But he might've looked up a couple of basic words, just enough to make her laugh. Or, in this case, jump his bones. So I guess the moral of the story is: don't screw around with grand declarations when all you have to do is shut up and kiss me. **

**And on that note, I bid you adieu. Thanks for your company!**


End file.
